


Lodestar

by Mangacat



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coda, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode Tag, Episode: s14e03 The Scar, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-29
Updated: 2018-10-29
Packaged: 2019-08-09 17:54:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16454639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mangacat/pseuds/Mangacat
Summary: Some things between them have been left unsaid too long again, Sam isn’t prepared to let it slide anymore.Or: my need to show what the boys really should be doing before those fade outs instead of never telling.





	Lodestar

**Author's Note:**

> So I watched the episode and then immediately went to caranfindel’s episode reaction post on livejournal, as you do, and found out that now only was there a lot more to rant about than I’d anticipated, that need for fix-it fic wouldn’t let me go and I poured some tear-filled prose onto the page. Ah well… I thought I’d share, since I already got it. Dashed it together in about two hours last night, did a cursory sleep-deprived edit tonight, all remaining mistakes are mine.

“…I felt every second of it, clawing, fighting for air… I thought I could make it out, but I couldn’t. I wasn’t strong enough.”

… _not like you…_ swings in the dead air of the pause between them, and Sam wants to soothe Dean, wants to tell him how much that battle of moments cost him, all those years ago and remind Dean how great his part was in all of it. But his brother is already moving on, pressing into the open wound of his guilt with a frankness that hurts Sam as much as it does Dean.

 

He wants to placate him, tell him that he’s wrong, that once you’ve been put in that shitty place between an unstoppable force and an immovable object, things like agency, responsibility and will become irrelevant. But the words don’t come. Even though Sam is in the position of being one of the very, very few people on this earth to know exactly what Dean is going through, to understand, he can’t find it in him to break past the barrier of silence in his own head, through to Dean. Still, in that same moment, the realisation of not being alone crystalizes, takes his breath away and lifts a weight of his chest that he hasn’t acknowledged in so long. It’s been there. It’s been there and there was no way to move it. Until now.

 

“Stop the car.”

Dean reacts to the rough and unbending authority in Sam’s voice without thought, hands turning the wheel before he even has a chance to look at Sam, but when the Impala comes to an abrupt stop on the shoulder, he whips around, poised for danger.

“What is it?”

Sam is going on pure instinct, sliding halfway across the seat, right into Dean’s space to drag him into a hug. It’s awkward, because Dean is half turned, his elbow knocking into Sam’s ribs and he makes half a move to shove him away, but Sam is already in under his guard, cradling his head in one hand, hooking his chin over Dean’s shoulder and holding on with his fist bunched into his jacket. He breathes against the closeness of his brother’s chest, the rapid fire of his beating heart, breathes in the familiar scent of leather and gun oil and a hint of ash and waits for Dean.

 

They’ve made a rare thing out of this kind of physical closeness over the years, normally reserved for near death or more likely post death experiences, when they should be doing this all the time, celebrating that they’re alive and near each other. Near enough to finally appreciate that…

“You are not alone.”

Sam whispers the words so quietly that they almost feel like they’re not intended for anyone’s ears, but Dean hears them, flinching with his whole body, before he finally lets it go. Lets it all loose, with his face buried into the side of Sam’s neck, chest heaving with deep, loud gulps of air, that aren’t sobs, but breaths of freedom and release from the same burden they’ve both been carrying in one form or another for more time of their lives than not.

 

In the embrace, Sam feels everything that he’s been dealing with – looking for Dean, dreading Michael’s plans, organising a group of refugees, being a parent to Jack and trying to look at Nick like an actual human being instead of his darkest fears made flesh – swing into equilibrium while his body and soul remember they’re one half of a whole. A unit that’s saved the world too many times count now, even though the price was always steep and often too high.

He settles back into the knowledge that however broken and frayed, they can always return to being what the other needs, break the circle, they just have to dare cross the distance.

“I know. I’ll try to remember.”

Dean’s voice sounds rough, flayed open, but Sam is sure the wounds will begin to heal now, and he vows just as they’ve stitched each other’s skin and set each other’s bones countless times, he’ll find a way make soothing their souls part of their ritual of care in the future.

 

Slowly, he opens his hands and draws back to be able to hold Dean’s eyes in an exchange of silence, seeing his own pain and determination reflected, without judgement, but understanding and acceptance. Sam settles back into his place, riding shotgun to his brother, who throws in a gear with an absent nod and smoothly slides back onto the road.

They make their way home, heads clearer, hearts lighter.

 

 

 


End file.
